


Beg Me

by emeraldorchids



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Begging, F/F, Forgiveness, Friendship, Regret, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldorchids/pseuds/emeraldorchids
Summary: The first time it happened, it was almost by accident. The second time, it felt scripted. The third, well, she knew it would be their last. A glimpse into the making of Miranda & Andy's relationship.





	

**UNE.** Paris, France. 

_The first time it happened, it was almost by accident._

 

She threw her phone into a fountain, but she didn't feel any better as she walked around Paris in uncomfortable heels, rolling her eyes every time she instinctively wanted to check her messages. Later, back at the hotel, after waiting on hold with the airlines for nearly an hour, she flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," she said. There was no way she could change her ticket. She would be flying back with the _Runway_ team.

Sitting and staring at the wall for a few hours, she realized how stupid she had been. It wasn't about Nigel or Emily or becoming like Miranda—that was just her excuse. She was running because the depth of her feelings for the silver-haired editor was suddenly too much and not enough.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Despite the unexpected turn of events today, her makeup was still intact. Faint gray shadows lingered beneath her eyes, but thinking of how she came to look like this, she couldn't help but smile. She wouldn't have traded her job for anything. Her smile faded as she realized what she had done today and what that might mean for her future.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, taking a deep breath. "It was an emergency, and I had to take care of it. Yeah, that's it." She took another deep breath and knocked on the door to the editor's hotel suite. It was just after nine, so Miranda should have been back in her room. She knocked once more and heard a faint "come in," so she used her keycard and entered the suite, stopping just inside the doorway.

Miranda was sitting in the same corner of the sofa as yesterday. She wore her black wide-leg, high-waisted pants with a white blouse that seemed to be missing buttons. The lace from her black bra was clearly visible. Her hair was messier than usual, but bigger, it seemed. Her legs were crossed, and her red-soled stiletto dangled precariously on her toe.

"Yes, Andrea? Is there something you wish to say to me?" she asked.

"I, um," Andrea fiddled with her hands and wished she had worn a dress with pockets.

"Come closer. You're practically in the hallway over there."

Andrea nodded and stepped into the living room, but still on the other side of the room. "Miranda, about today, you see—"

"Andrea Sachs," Miranda interrupted, "If you plan to lie to me, you may see yourself out. Do not insult me with anything less than the truth."

"No, of course not, Miranda. I want to apologize for my behavior today, and, uh," she fidgeted and looked at the carpet.

"Come here," Miranda said. The young woman took a tentative step forward and Miranda rolled her eyes and gestured with her hand for the young woman to come closer and sit.

Andrea hurried forward, and as she approached the couch, her shoe caught on the carpet and she went flying forward, landing on her hands and knees directly in front of the editor.

Miranda slowly uncrossed her legs, careful not to kick the woman before her. "Andrea," she said, causing the young woman to look upwards with her big brown eyes. "Come here."

Andrea opened her mouth to speak, but immediately thought otherwise. Her eyes widened, realizing she couldn't physically come much closer to the editor.

Then, the editor slowly spread her legs. At first, she thought she was imagining it. But then Miranda said, "Come. Here."

Andrea crawled a few feet closer, until she was kneeling in front of the couch, Miranda's knee on either side of her. She awkwardly held her hands up and found herself once again wishing she had pockets.

Miranda reached for her hands and examined the palms slowly. "You are not injured are you?" she asked.

With the editor's soft hands holding hers, she could hardly think straight. Not trusting her vocabulary, she simply shook her head.

"Good," she said, turning Andrea's hands over and placing them on her thighs. She gently guided her hands up and down the length of her leg. The young woman soon picked up the rhythm.

Andrea wasn't sure what was happening, but she wasn't about to say anything to stop it. Her hands, however, had a mind of their own. Her thumbs gently caressed the woman's inner thigh, and her finger tips reached all the way to the woman's hips. Miranda's face was unreadable, but every time her thumb traced a circle on the inside of her thigh, it seemed like she blinked a few times more than necessary.

As Andrea kept tracing circles on her inner thigh, Miranda sank back into the sofa. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply as she took the young woman's hands and moved them faster, with a bit more pressure than before. She quickly pulled the young woman's hand to her center and held it there. Andrea could feel the heat radiating through the black fabric of her pants and as she moved her thumb back and forth across the seam, the editor's hips twitched.

The next thing she knew, Miranda had one hand balled into a fist and wedged in between her teeth, the other gripping the fabric of the sofa pillow. Her body was on fire under the young woman's touch, and within seconds she was silently riding out her orgasm, fully clothed, her heart beating out of its chest.

She had to grab the young woman's wrist to pull her hand away, otherwise, she may have kept it up all evening. However, when she finally sat up and looked down at the young woman, she felt her pulse begin to race. Andrea was slowly licking her fingers.

Without any hesitation, Miranda grabbed her hand and yanked it towards her own mouth. Because the young woman was still on her knees, Miranda had to lean forward a bit, but she managed to pull the woman's fingers into her mouth. It was the most erotic thing she had ever done. It was like Andrea was fucking her mouth with her hand.

Andrea's mouth went dry when she felt the editor's tongue on her fingertips. She leaned forward and placed her other hand on the woman's hip. When she didn't object, Andrea moved her hand upwards, slowly, until her fingertips reached the underside of her breast.

And then, it was as if Miranda snapped out of a trance. She ungracefully pulled Andrea's fingers from her mouth and reached up to fluff her hair, which was now damp and frizzy.

"Miranda—I-I-I'm s-sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry," she repeated as sobs took over. She turned to crawl away from the couch, but Miranda grabbed her arm firmly and kept her from leaving her place.

"Oh, Andrea," she said. Her speech was crackly, but the tone was soft.

"I'm sorry," the young woman sobbed over and over.

Miranda did not say any more, but allowed the woman to cry in her lap. She, more than anyone, understood that sometimes you couldn't keep your emotions inside. She gently began running her fingers through Andrea's hair.

A short while later, Andrea woke, and it took her a few minutes to get her bearings. She immediately jumped back and eyed Miranda suspiciously.

"Are you better?" Miranda asked. "You were so upset, you fell asleep."

Andrea stared at her incredulously.

"You will need to find a new job, but I can help. Your tenure with _Runway_ ended when you chose not to follow me this afternoon, you must realize that. I can't do anything about that, especially now. Do you understand? This never happened."

Andrea nodded as tears threatened to fall once again. "I am sorry I failed you as an assistant," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "This was, um, nice. Unexpected, but, well, goodbye, Miranda." The young woman let herself out of the suite, knowing she would never see or hear from Miranda again.

 

* * *

 

 **DEUX.** New York, New York. 

_The second time it happened, it felt scripted._

 

"So, Andy, what do you think about coming to see me in Boston?" he asked.

She sighed and smiled. She was glad to have made peace with him, but even after leaving _Runway,_ they were different people. She had been at her new job at the _Mirror_ for a few months, and it was finally something she wanted to really be successful at. She had a newfound confidence, and in a strange way, it was all thanks to her time at _Runway._ Nate had his new restaurant gig in Boston, and she could see that it just wasn't going to work between them. More importantly, she didn't want it anymore.

"Next weekend maybe?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then her cell phone rang. "Look, it's probably my editor, so why don't I call you when I'm free, okay?" she said as she fished her phone from her bag.

Nate rolled his eyes. "Sure. As long as I know it's not that fashion bitch calling you," he said.

Andrea found her phone and paled when she saw the number on caller ID.

"No. Don't tell me—you're still? Her?" He saw her phone, then got up from the table and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. "Look, I can't do this."

She shrugged. She didn't know what to say, but she didn't want to let the call go to voicemail. "Um, bye?"

He pushed the chair towards the table in frustration, and then made his way out of the coffee shop. Andrea knew she would never see him again, and she was okay with that.

"Hello?" she quickly answered.

"Hello, Andrea?"

"Yes…"

"This is Miranda," she said. After a few seconds she added, "Miranda Priestly."

"Hi Miranda, I—I knew it was you, I just wasn't expecting… Why are you calling?" she asked. Her initial excitement at seeing the editor's name on caller ID was replaced with annoyance when she recalled how they parted.

"I was scrolling through names in my phone and wondered how you are."

Andrea burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, but I worked for you for nine months and I know you would never do that, especially on a Saturday." She felt a huge relief at being able to stand up to the woman like that. "Wait, is something wrong? Oh no, that's why you're calling."

"No, nothing is wrong. I hear you are working at the _Mirror_. Deplorable publication, really. No artistry, just ink on paper. But, I do believe that's what you wanted so, hopefully everyone there isn't terrible," she said.

Andrea grinned. "Yes, I am really liking my new job, thanks for asking. And I saw your divorce was finalized—not major news or anything, just, you know. I read the boring stuff, too."

"It has been remarkably quiet, but I am grateful. I am finally rid of him for good."

"Why did it take so long?" Andrea asked.

"Three months is actually one of the fastest—"

"Oh, right, you've done that before."

"Andrea, I didn't call to discuss my marital history."

"No?"

"No. I—"

Andrea inhaled sharply. There _was_ another reason the editor was calling. "Yes?" she said as she waited for an apology from the woman who notoriously apologized for nothing.

"Are you free this evening?"

Not at all what Andrea was expecting, but she wasn't going to let the woman off that easily. "No, actually, I have plans tonight, but I am free tomorrow or Monday evening," she said. She also knew the Met Gala was Monday night. The editor's response here would say a lot about why she wanted to meet, and Andrea anxiously waited for her to ask her to move her plans.

"Well, what about tomorrow evening, around 8 then?" Miranda asked.

"Sure, that works."

"Excellent," Miranda said, sighing in relief. "That's wonderful. Is there somewhere near your home or office that you'd like to meet?"

Again, Andrea was shocked. "Oh, okay. Well, there's Hugo's or La Scala by me. Or if you were just thinking of coffee, there's a great place on 48th."

"Let's meet at Hugo's at 8:15."

"I thought you said 8," Andrea said. She knew she was testing her luck, but she needed to be sure.

Miranda sighed. "I said 'around 8' because James is supposed to pick his daughters up at 7:30 but he is almost always running thirty minutes late."

"Oh, okay. Sure. I will see you there at 8:15," Andrea said. "And if he's running really behind or something, well, you have my number. Just shoot me a text."

"Andrea, I fully intend to show up on time. You do realize I called you to arrange this meeting, right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything, Miranda. It will be lovely to see you tomorrow, though I am not sure that I have anything to wear."

Miranda chuckled. "Well I did hire you when you were wearing that hideous taupe canvas blazer, so I am sure whatever you choose won't be that bad."

"Aw, but I was totally planning to wear that blazer—if I could only find my matching skirt," she teased.

"Very funny. Please don't go out of your way," she added.

"A casual affair."

After a few seconds, Miranda replied. "Yes. And can you bring some of your recent stories? I would like to read them."

"I can. Anything else?"

"No. You?"

"No. See you tomorrow."

"Yes, see you tomorrow, Andrea."

The young woman stared at her phone for several minutes. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

The next day, Andrea arrived early at Hugo's—partly because she forgot to call and make a reservation, partly because she was nervous. Luckily, it wasn't too crowded, and within twenty minutes she was able to secure them a table in the corner, away from the windows.

At 8:05, Andrea received a text message: _just left my house, be there shortly. -mp_

She wrote back: _Great. I'm at a table in the back. See you soon._

As the minutes went by, Andrea tried to focus and take some grounding breaths. The phone call on Saturday came out of the blue, but her voice had that same sweet tone she used that night in Paris. She couldn't think of any other reason that Miranda would call herself and would want to meet in person. If it were literally anything else in her life, she'd have Emily do it. She didn't know what she wanted or expected from the woman, but she knew they weren't finished with whatever it was in Paris.

Before she could think much more, she saw a flash of silver by the door and knew it was time.

Miranda smoothed out her dress as she walked towards Andrea's table. She had spent hours getting ready—her daughters thought for sure she was going on a date. Miranda begged them not to tell their father that. And reminded them it was _not_ a date. She was meeting with a former colleague.

"Hi, Miranda," she said as the woman joined her across the table. "You look great."

Miranda blushed and took a seat. "It's good to see you. This is a great table, too, very private."

Andrea's eyebrow quirked up and Miranda rolled her eyes. "I suppose you know why I'm here—why we're here, hopefully."

"I think I have an idea," Andrea said.

Miranda smiled and nervously looked around. "Is it safe to talk here?"

"Yeah I think so. Want me to come sit over there so you don't have to talk so loud?" Andrea asked.

"Heavens, no. Stay where you are," she said. "I can't be trusted around you."

Andrea smiled. "That's funny, because I was just thinking that you owe me." She couldn't stop the words from spilling out. No point in backtracking now, she thought. "Everything in Paris felt so unfinished. I didn't get my turn."

"Because you decided to cry yourself to sleep!" Miranda snapped.

The young woman's eyes widened. "Oh, I see how you spin that. Paris was _my_ fault."

"No, no, I'm sorry. Please," Miranda said, holding her hands up as if surrendering. "I am all out of sorts today, and a little on edge," she said, biting her lip.

"Did you eat? Would you like a drink?" Andrea said, changing the subject. As much as she enjoyed access to this side of Miranda, it terrified her.

Miranda shook her head and took a sip of water, but her hand was shaking so badly she almost spilled.

"Let's get some fresh air, take a little walk. I know this area well," Andrea said. Miranda nodded and quickly followed her out of the restaurant.

It was dark outside—the kind of darkness that wants so desperately to be light. Andrea only lived a few blocks away, but she wasn't sure that's where this was going, so she led them in a few circles.

"Miranda, now that it's just us, can I ask why you wanted to see me today?" Andrea said.

Miranda bumped shoulders with the young woman as they walked. "You did everything right. I was horrible to you, and to your friends, and then I gave you reason to sue me or get me fired or at least exposed—and you did nothing."

"I don't get it," she said.

"Andrea, I wanted you to fail. I knew what I was doing, and I hated myself for it. You were supposed to hate me for it, too, but you don't. Or, at least I don't think you do. Do you?"

Andrea smiled and bumped shoulders with the woman. "I don't hate you," she said, walking a little farther before coming to a stop on the sidewalk. "This is my building. Do you want to come up?"

Miranda's eyebrow rose.

"I live by myself. It's a chill building. It's moderately clean."

"That would never matter," she said. "Do _you_ want me to come up?"

Andrea rolled her eyes and took Miranda's hand. "Of course I do. When will you start believing what I say?" she said as she tugged her along, into the lobby and an elevator. "We'll have to share, is that alright?"

Miranda nodded. "I always shared with you."

"You did," Andrea said, smiling. Their hands were still linked and Miranda squeezed gently. She looked at her and bit her lip.

"Andrea, don't overthink it."

The young woman nodded and they rode the rest of the way to the 23rd floor in silence. When she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, Miranda pounced, pushing her up against the back of the door.

"Oh god, Andrea," she said before quickly pressing her lips against the other woman's.

"Wait, wait," Andrea said, pushing her away. "Your eagerness is charming, but can we at least get comfortable? Living room? Bedroom? Even the kitchen would be a better place to fuck than the foyer," she added.

"I am about to explode," she said, grabbing Andrea's hand and pulling it towards her legs.

"Miranda, what the fuck?" she said, jumping back. "I don't hear from you for months, after you fired me, after you made me get you off that night in Paris," she said, walking towards her bedroom. "And now—now you suddenly decide you need to see me, and I think maybe we can be friends or something, but no. I was right to be suspicious," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "Why not use a dildo like every other woman?"

"Andrea, please hear me out," Miranda said, following her into the bedroom. "Please, it's not…" her voice trailed off as her lips quivered.

Before Andrea knew what was happening, Miranda started to cry. She turned around and faced the other wall, but Andrea could see her pained expression through the mirror. "What's wrong? Talk to me. Why are you crying?" Andrea said.

This, somehow, only made Miranda cry harder. She fell to her knees at Andrea's feet. "Andrea, I need to apologize. I'm sorry. I am so sorry," she said, over and over. "I used you, I mistreated you, I called you names, I held back your career, I interfered with your personal life. You have every reason to despise me."

"So why bother?" Andrea asked. She was confused about a few of the things Miranda mentioned, but not enough to ask now. "Why not just let it go?"

"Because I think I've fallen in love with you. And I am terrified that I've already ruined it."

That was a lot to process, but Andrea quickly realized that she could not walk away from that woman again, not now. She reached out her hand and helped Miranda up, and when they were both sitting on the bed, she reached out for the woman's hands. "I accept your apology," she said.

"What? You do?!" Miranda said in disbelief as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Yes," she said.

"Good. Um, I'm sorry, I must look horrible right now."

"You're beautiful."

"You can't be serious," Miranda said as she tried to hide her face with her hands.

Andrea gently peeled her hands away and cupped her cheek. "I am," she said as her thumb softly brushed the editor's lips.

Miranda's tongue darted out to capture her thumb.

Andrea pulled her hand back and took the woman's face in her hands. "May I kiss you properly?"

Miranda nodded, her eyes never breaking their gaze.. Andrea leaned forward and softly captured her lips. "How was that?" she asked.

"Nice," Miranda said, leaning in for another.

Andrea kept her lips tightly closed and gently shook her head. "Now, if you have any requests, or if there's something you need in particular, you can always _ask for it_ ," Andrea said.

At this, Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Fine, but I'm serious," Andrea said. "This isn't Paris. I'm not your bitch anymore. If you want something, you ask…nicely."

"I don't appreciate the way you're speaking to me," Miranda said.

"And I don't appreciate the way you treated me when I worked for you."

Miranda nodded in concession. "I hope we won't need this conversation again," she said.

Andrea smiled and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Hopefully not," she said.

Miranda reached down and untied the sash on her trench coat, then laid back on the bed. "Andrea, I am about to explode. Will you help me, please? Darling?"

Andrea grinned. "Yes, Miranda."

 

* * *

 

 **TROIS.** New York City.

_The third time it happened, she knew it would be their last._

 

"Are you sure you have to go up?" she asked, squeezing her hand.

"Yes, but I promise I will be over as soon as I take care of this issue," she said, pressing a kiss to the woman's cheek.

"Well, I can't argue with that," she said, nuzzling the other woman's neck. "Try to make it home soon?"

"Of course. Go put something comfortable on, pour yourself a glass of wine, and I'll be there before you know it," she said.

The car pulled up to the _Mirror_ 's offices and Andrea quickly stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"I wish you were coming home with me, but I understand, probably more than anyone, what you're going through. Knock 'em dead, darling. I'll be waiting for you," Miranda said as she gently waved her fingers.

As it turned out, Andrea was needed longer than she expected. A little over an hour later, she was hailing a cab to take her back to the townhouse. She let herself inside, and secretly hoped Miranda had already gone to bed.

"'Drea…I just called and you didn't answer," Miranda said, frowning.

Andrea glanced in her bag and didn't see her phone. "I must have left it at work," she said. She took the wine glass from the woman's hand and set it on the table next to the empty wine bottle. Miranda's grin was evidence that she had more than enough tonight. "Let's go to bed, shall we?"

Miranda nodded and followed her to the bedroom. Thankfully, the editor had already changed out of her clothes, because as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep.

Several hours later, they were woken up by the ringing of a cell phone.

Miranda burrowed her head in the young woman's neck and hugged her tightly while the phone no doubt went to voicemail. Immediately after, her landline rang. She pressed a gently kiss to Andrea's neck before pushing away. "I have to get that," she mumbled.

The younger woman glanced over at the clock. "It's not even seven," she said as she reached for the woman's wrist. "Stay here just a little longer?"

Miranda shook her head. "It's the girls."

"Hello?"

"Mom…"

"Darling, what is it?"

"When were you going to tell us about your secret lover? This affair with Andrea?"

Miranda felt all the color drain from her face and she sat up, pulling the sheet tightly around her. "Wh-what? What are you talking about, Caroline?"

"It's on the stupid TV and all over the internet. Our friends texted us about it this morning. What the hell, Mom? Do you know how embarrassing this is for us?"

Miranda covered the mouthpiece on the phone and turned to Andrea. "Darling, get dressed," she said.

"There are pictures and emails and disgusting text messages! And it's all online for everyone to see from now until forever. Ugh! No kid should ever have to read that about their mom."

Miranda was already up and getting dressed herself. "Sweetie, I want to explain. I'm coming over now," she said.

"No, don't. We don't want to see you."

Miranda froze, then continued getting dressed. "Caroline, please, let me explain. I love you and your sister more than anything, and I never meant to hurt you," she said, glancing up at Andrea who was dressed and sitting at the foot of the bed. "Put your father on the phone, Caroline."

"Whatever," she said, setting the phone down and shouting for her father.

Miranda quickly buttoned her blouse and rinsed her mouth with mouthwash while waiting for James.

"Is she okay?" Andrea asked.

"What do you think?" Miranda snapped, turning back to the phone. "James? Oh god, how bad is it?"

"Well, do you really want to know the answer to that? What were you thinking, sexting with your secretary like that!?"

Miranda looked up at Andrea, once again covering the receiver. "You need to leave," she said, pointing to the front door as she walked across the hall to the study and shut the door. "James, where is all this even coming from?"

"My guess would be that one of your phones or computers was hacked, and that's how someone got all this info. There are pages and pages and pages of inappropriate text messages, emails and pictures. God, Miranda what would possess you to send a naked photo of yourself to a twenty-year-old girl!?"

"My data is encrypted, and I deleted those photos right away," she said as she frantically tried to start her laptop and see for herself, "I never—my face was never in them anyway."

"I know. But that birthmark on your hip…" he said with a sigh. "I thought you'd have been more careful."

Miranda was finally able to pull the stories up on her computer and she began to cry. "I never meant for this, James. Please, I will fix this. I will make this go away. I want to come see the girls."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"James, please don't do this."

He sighed. "I already called my lawyer. She'll be sending over a motion today indicating the material change in circumstances as it relates to our custody agreement."

"What?! Why?"

"The girls are both very hurt and upset that this has been going on and they didn't know about it. They still love you, but it's really hard for them to understand this. And they shouldn't have to suffer because the press is attacking you," he said. "Look, I've gotta go. You can call them tonight."

"No, James, wait—"

"Good luck, Miranda."

The line went dead and the editor just stared at her phone in disbelief. A knock at the study door pulled her from her thoughts. The door cracked open and Andrea peeked inside.

"Um, there are a lot of reporters and photographers outside. Is everything okay?"

"No," Miranda said, shaking her head, "it's not okay. Nothing is okay!" she shouted.

"What? Me?"

"You ruined everything. You fucking ruined everything! I wish to god I'd never met you," she said.

"What did I even do?" she pleaded

"Where is your phone, Andrea?"

"Umm, I think I left it at work…or maybe in the cab I took home."

"You _think_? What was on your phone? Did you have a password on it? Was it encrypted?"

"Umm…yeah, I don't know. What happened?" she replied nervously.

"Emails, text messages, and photos— _private photos_ —have been published online. Stupid, irresponsible, hurtful…" she trailed off as she began to cry. "You _outed me_ to my daughters and everyone else. They are upset, and James is trying to get full custody. I want you out of my house."

Andrea opened her mouth to speak but Miranda interrupted.

"I will drag you down the stairs and personally show you the door if you are not out of here in ten seconds," she said, pointing at the door.

"Miranda, please. I'm sorry. It was an accident," Andrea said. "I'll do whatever—"

"Out! _NOW_! Or I am calling the police."

Andrea didn't argue with the woman, shutting the door as she left the room. She could hardly think straight as she hurried to pack her things. She had been sneaking in and out of the townhouse for months, but today she was so angry at the way Miranda was treating her, she walked straight out the front door.

The gaggle of photographers sparked to life when she came running down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. They were blocking her exit, and she was about to lose it. "Will someone please help me get a taxi? Or at least to the subway?" she called. She couldn't make her way through without cameras in her face.

"Won't Miranda's driver take you home?"

"I thought Miranda didn't want you taking public transportation!"

"Miranda threw me out," she said, running her hands through her hair. "Do you mind leaving me alone? I just want to go home."

Greg, one of the photographers from the _Mirror_ suddenly emerged from the crowd and took her by the elbow, guiding her away from Miranda's house and down the street where his car was. "Andy, I'm really sorry about everything. Can I give you a ride?" he said.

"Yes, thank you so much," she said as she climbed into his car. She gave him her address and they rode across town in silence.

When the car pulled up to her building, Greg put it in park and turned to her. "I'm not going to ask anything, because I know it's no one's business but yours, but Andy, my god, you are gorgeous. If you ever decide to swing the other way," he wagged his eyebrows, eliciting a chuckle from the young woman. "No, but seriously, you keep that head high, girl. If you need anything call me."

"Thanks again for getting me out of there," she said, climbing out of the car.

The first thing she did was ask her doorman to run to the corner bodega to buy her a cell phone. He looked at her with knowing sympathy and agreed to bring it up to her apartment in a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Miranda called her private security firm, who enlisted the help of the police to tame the chaos outside her home. Once a path was cleared, she got in her car and drove to James' house, despite his objections. It looked like some photographers were following, but she couldn't help it. They had been outside his home before so it wasn't like she revealed anything. She parked in his driveway and ran up the steps, frantically ringing the bell.

"Miranda what are you doing? I told you not to come here," James said.

"I need to see the girls, please," she said.

"They don't want to see you," he explained, locking the screen door.

"Cassidy! Caroline! Bobbseys, can you come to the door?" she shouted into the house.

James shut the door without another word.

Miranda folded her arm over her eyes and against leaned against the brick, frantically pushing the bell until he opened the door again.

This time, it was Cassidy who opened the door. "Mom, stop ringing the doorbell," she said. "Dad already called the police."

"Oh my baby," she said as she put her hand against her daughter's through the screen. "Honey, I am so sorry about all of this. I love you so much. I just want to talk to you. There's no excuse, but I want you to hear it from me, not the internet."

Caroline joined her, unlocked the screen door, and let Miranda inside. "You're not supposed to be here," she said as she crossed her arms.

"I know. I promise I am not staying. I just want you to hear this from me—I screwed up. I made some bad decisions, and now I have to deal with it," she said. "I don't know how much you heard or read, but Andrea and I have been seeing each other for the last six months. You remember Andrea when she was my assistant, right? She got you Harry Potter," Miranda said with a smile. "Well, a short while after my divorce from Stephen was finalized, I called her. We had dinner, and we also realized our mutual attraction. I have been seeing her a few times a week ever since."

"Why didn't we ever see her?" Cassidy asked.

"What made you call her?" Caroline asked.

"You never saw her because I didn't want you to. I didn't know if you would understand our relationship, and I wasn't sure how serious it was, either," she explained. "Andrea came over the weekends when you were here, and other times I would go to her apartment—always when you were asleep or at a sleepover or something," she added. "And Caroline, I called her because I missed her."

"She was just an assistant."

"That's not true. She was by my side every day that she worked for me. I came to know her and rely on her and respect her. I fired her in Paris."

"What? You said she quit."

"Well, we arrived at the Cavalli show and when it was time to get out of the car, she wouldn't come with me. She actually threw her phone into a fountain. Then she came to my room begging for her job back, and I told her she was no longer employed."

"But Mom, if you liked her, why were you so mean?"

"Honey, she needed that. She has a great career ahead of her, and I hated to watch her waste her time fetching my coffee."

"Like Emily?"

Miranda shrugged. "Like Emily."

"Did the media make up all those stories about the text messages and photos then?" Cassidy asked.

Miranda took a deep breath. "No. That was true. Andrea's phone was stolen last night. I was careful to delete everything on my phone and keep it password-protected just in case, but Andrea wasn't so careful."

"So you said all those nasty things they said you said?" Caroline asked.

"Yes. If they have screenshots of it, I said it. I am not asking you girls to understand this now, but when you're older, if you ever find yourself in love," she said, sniffling and wiping her eyes, "you will do crazy things, and it will be exhilarating, like riding a roller coaster. Except you can't go on the roller coaster every day because you both have other commitments and priorities. But, sometimes a few text messages or a photo remind you so vividly of that roller coaster, you can almost feel it again…you would do almost anything."

"Do you love Andy, Mom?" Cassidy asked.

Miranda wiped her eyes and shook her head. "That's not for you to worry about, darling. I am taking care of everything, so you won't have to worry about her anymore."

"Huh? Did you break up with her?" Cassidy asked.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Of course. Mom probably told her to leave the same way she fired her before."

Miranda bit her lip because she realized Caroline was right.

James, who had been standing in the hallway the whole time, stepped forward. "Girls, your mom is probably busy today. We should let her go."

Cassidy ran and wrapped her arms around Miranda. "Can't she stay? She's sad."

"Yeah, well, she should have thought about that before," Caroline said.

"Caroline," James warned.

"No, she's right," Miranda said, hugging Cassidy tightly. "I wasn't thinking straight. I was being selfish. But I want you to know I always put you two first. I never left you alone. I never allowed her in the house when you were home. I never lied about coming home late—it was always because of work, never because I was with her."

"Care, stop giving Mom such a hard time," Cassidy said. "If it wasn't in the news, we would never have known. It's not like she neglected us. Stop being jealous."

"I am not _jealous!_ " she shouted. "Did you forget that Andy is a girl, like our age?"

Cassidy opened her mouth but Miranda shook her head and squatted in front of Caroline. "Honey, Andrea is an adult. She is a college graduate, she lives on her own, she pays her own rent and insurance, she drives, and she legally drinks. She is, however, a woman. I know we talked about accepting people who are different, but I also know that it's sometimes easier to accept other people than it is your own family."

"So does this mean you're a lesbian?" Cassidy asked.

Miranda sat back on her heels. "You know, before today, I didn't think about that. She was someone I cared for, no label needed. But I guess, now that it's out there, I'm okay with it. Are you?"

Cassidy nodded. Caroline shook her head.

James cleared his throat. "It's okay Caroline, you don't have to accept it, not right now. In fact, I think your mom should leave."

Miranda hugged and kissed Cassidy, then turned to Caroline. She wanted nothing more than to take her baby in her arms and rock her to sleep, but she knew that Caroline just needed some time. She hugged her and kissed her on the forehead, then reached for the door.

"Mom, can we meet Andrea sometime this week? I mean, I guess we've met her before, but like, can she come to dinner or something?" Cassidy asked.

Miranda's eyes widened and she looked up at James.

"Cass, I thought you two wanted to stay here until things settled?" he said.

"No!" they said in unison.

"No, we just meant _today_ ," Caroline explained. "We just wanted to stay here today."

Miranda took a deep breath. "Well, Andrea won't be joining us, but I will promise you that if I go on a second date with anyone in the future, I will be sure to tell you."

"Wait, so you really did break up with Andy?" Caroline asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Miranda bit her lip and nodded. "Yes. You were so upset on the phone and I thought that's what you wanted…isn't it?"

"What I want is to be able to walk to my friend's house by myself without a bodyguard and cameras everywhere. I don't really care about who you are dating. I hated Stephen but you never cared," Caroline said.

" _We_ hated Stephen," Cassidy added. "But we don't hate Andy."

"Girls, your mother needs to go," James said.

"I do. I will call you first thing tomorrow," Miranda said, heading out he door and back into her car. When she approached her house, she noticed her security team was there and seemed to have control of the situation. They cleared a path for her to pull into her garage, and just like that, she was home.

She knew the house would be empty, but still, she chose to sit out in the garage for a few minutes. So much had happened in the past few hours. Before she realized what she was doing, she was dialing Andrea's number.

_Hey, you've reached Andy. I'm unavailable at the moment, but leave a message and I'll call you back. Thanks! ((beep—))_

"Andrea—I said some things this morning that I didn't mean. Everything happened so fast and I—oh shit." She quickly ended the call, but her heart was still racing. Andrea's phone had been stolen, so whoever had it would be able to listen to that voicemail.

She took a deep breath and walked into the house. It was messy; she gave Cara the weekend off so she and Andrea could spend time alone, but now it seemed that wasn't the best idea. Everywhere she looked reminded her of Andrea—from the coats strewn across the chair to the mug of coffee sitting out on the table. Fearing she had fractured their relationship beyond repair, she drudged upstairs, hoping to wake up from this nightmare.

The last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone else, but she knew she needed to check-in with Leslee, so she turned on her phone. She had hundreds of missed messages and emails, but one that surprised her was listed under "Unknown Senders"—she'd never noticed that before. When she clicked, it was a 646 number, and the message simply read: _new number, fyi._

It was probably her, but she couldn't take any chances, not after leaving that voicemail. This could be anyone.

She sighed and typed a reply: _Proof?_

Immediately she received a reply: _I left my Wildcats mug on the table this morning._

Miranda felt relieved, but then again, anyone could guess that. She wrote back: _What else?_

Suddenly, she jumped when her landline began to ring. "Hello?" she answered right away.

"Hi, it's me. This _is_ my new phone number," the young woman said.

"Oh, good. I—I'm glad."

"You're _glad?_ What the fuck, Miranda? You threw me out this morning for something that wasn't even my fault!" Andrea said. "And now you're _glad_?"

"Not your fault? You kept all of that private information on your phone without a password or encryption!" Miranda shouted back without a second thought.

"Hello? There are two of us. It was _our_ private information. Just because you're rich and famous doesn't mean this hurt you more. If you'd stop treating your children like babies, maybe they wouldn't have flipped out."

"How dare you bring the girls into this."

" _You_ did that this morning—when they called and you made me leave."

"Please, Andrea, I don't want to do this—not over the phone," she said after a few minutes' silence. "I already heard it from the girls—twice, in fact. I just called and left a message for you—on your old number. Midway through I realized and hung up. I was calling to apologize. I at least owe you that," she said. "You have every right to be angry with me."

"This is all a big mess isn't it? My editor called this morning and gave me the option of resigning or working in production. 'Can't write the news if you _are_ the news,' he said."

"Honey, that's terrible. He can't do that."

"Well, he did. And for what it's worth, T-Mobile already reset my voicemail password and they're in the process of disabling the number entirely, so whatever you said, whoever has my phone won't be able to hear. I also filed a police report this morning. And," she added, "If you'd even care enough to _ask_ , I _did_ have a passcode on my phone. It was your birthday—your _real_ birthday—12/10."

Miranda was at a loss for words. After a few moments, she asked, "Why did you save all of those conversations and photos?"

"So I could read through them on the days I couldn't see you."

"Andrea, I—" Miranda was breathless.

"I love you," she said, interrupting the editor. "I am really upset right now, but— _fuck_ —I still love you so much."

"Andrea, I want to see you. In person. I can't do this over the phone, not after what happened this morning," she said. "May I come see you?"

Andrea thought about it. She wanted to see her, too, but she really didn't want the press to discover where she lived. "Don't come to my apartment—I don't want the press here," she said.

Miranda's heart sank. "Oh. Okay."

"What if we meet at the Peninsula? They have that ban on reporters, right?" she said.

"Yes, yes they do," Miranda replied, perhaps with a little too much hope in her voice. She could practically hear Andrea smiling on the other end.

"Let me call and make some arrangements. I'll text you where to meet me, let's say, two hours."

"That sounds perfect."

"Okay, I'll see you soon."

"Bye."

Miranda wiped the tears from her cheeks and sighed deeply. Andrea was giving her a chance to fix things, and that's all that really mattered to her. But first, she had to keep her promise to her daughters. She dialed James's house, and Cassidy answered the phone.

"Hi sweetie."

"Hi Mom. What is it?"

"I just talked to Andrea, and I'm going to arrange to see her. We have to meet somewhere that the cameras won't find us, so we are going to meet in a hotel. We are just going to talk and I don't know what will come of it, but I wanted you and Caroline to know. I don't want to keep this from you."

"Okay. Does this mean you're not breaking up?"

"I don't know. I said some awful things to her, and she has no reason to forgive me," Miranda said.

"Maybe you can buy her something? Like how you always bring me and Care lipsticks and purses when you're really late."

"Hm, I don't think that will work for Andrea."

"Oh, she'll think you're trying to buy her off? What about getting on your knees and just begging her forgiveness? That's something you'd, like, never ever do. It might work."

Miranda smiled. "I think that is the best idea so far, and you're right, it just might work. Thank you, sweetheart."

"No prob. Let us know how it goes. I hope she's not too upset."

"Thank you. I'll talk to you later. Love you, Bobbsey," Miranda said.

"Love you, too, Mom. Bye."

An hour later, Miranda still hadn't heard from Andrea, but it was nearing the two-hour mark. She donned her long brown wig, pulled it into a ponytail, and put a baseball cap on her head, and jogged all the way to the Peninsula. No one had recognized her, but that was not surprising—she hardly recognized herself. As she was grabbing a bottle of water from the lobby, her phone chirped with a text: _left envelope with keycard at front desk._

Miranda quickly replied: _what name?_

The young woman replied with just one word: _yours._

Miranda could feel her heart racing. If this was meant to intimidate her, it was working. She slipped into the restroom and removed her disguise, ran a brush through her hair, and applied some light makeup. Just as she was about to leave, another woman entered and gasped.

"Miranda—I, well, fancy seeing you here," she said.

"Why is that?" Miranda asked, acting as if it were an ordinary Saturday evening.

"Uh—well—the news…" the woman stammered.

"What news, Christine?"

The woman looked around before leaning in and whispering into Miranda's ear, "Those photos—you're the talk of the town. Every woman wants to be you, and every man wants to be with you."

Miranda smirked. "That is simply not true."

"Oh, but Miranda, it is. I heard George and his friends discussing it this morning. You looked incredible," she said.

"I have to go," Miranda said, quickly pushing past the councilman's wife and striding towards the main desk. "Ms. Sachs left an envelope for me," she said.

"And your name?" the clerk asked.

Miranda stared at the young boy who didn't look a day over twenty.

"Ma'am, I need your name if I am to retrieve this envelope," he repeated.

By now, several of his coworkers had jumped to his aid, one pulling him aside and another fetching the envelope and handing it to the editor. "Miranda, if there's anything we can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

Miranda nodded and took the envelope.

"The Peninsula prides itself in discretion. Your secret is safe with us," he said.

At this, Miranda spun around and glared at the three young men behind the desk with fire in her eyes. "There is no _secret_ ," she hissed. "I am here only because this is the one place in New York City where the press will not follow me. Do not pretend to know my business. Are we clear? Or shall I speak with your manager?"

"No, ma'am—I mean, Miranda. No. We understand."

"Good," she snapped before turning on her heel and marching away towards the elevators. She had to admit, it felt good to eviscerate someone right now, but marching away in pumas certainly did not have the same effect as her heels.

By the time she reached the room, she had practically forgotten about them. Her heart was racing. She took a deep breath and inserted the keycard, stepping forward into the room with trepidation. Andrea was sitting on the couch with her legs folded beneath her.

"Hi," Miranda said, shutting the door and locking it. She tossed her bag on the chair by the door. "Sorry I'm late."

Andrea shrugged.

Miranda approached the couch where Andrea was seated and sank to her knees. She couldn't bring herself to look Andrea in the eye. And she couldn't hold back her own tears.

After a few minutes, Andrea joined the woman on the floor.

"Look at me," she said, gently taking Miranda's hands. "Miranda, I need you to look at me." When the editor brought her hands up to cover her face, Andrea gently tugged them away and lifted her chin.

Miranda blinked several times and the young woman reached over for a tissue and gently wiped away the tears. "Look at me," she said quietly.

Slowly, Miranda opened her eyes and met the young woman's gaze. Her eyes were red and there was a depth of sadness she hadn't seen before on the young woman. "Oh, Andrea," she whispered, brushing the young woman's cheek.

"You hurt me," she said, pushing the woman's hand from her cheek.

"Oh honey, my darling, I am so so sorry about what I said to you. You are the single best person to come into my life since my daughters were born, and I want you to stay. I made a terrible mistake this morning, and I wish I could take it back and we could re-do this entire day," she said, as her lower lip trembled. She reached for Andrea's hands and clutched them tightly. "But I can't. I can't un-say those words. All I can do is sit here and beg your forgiveness like my life depended on it… because I think it does."

Andrea was shocked at the woman's words. She expected her to apologize and ask forgiveness, but not like this. She gently squeezed the woman's hands. "Sometimes, words cut so deeply, the relationship is beyond repair." Seeing panic flash through Miranda's eyes, she quickly added, "I do not think that is the case here."

Miranda sighed in relief. "How can I make this up to you, darling? I'll do anything within my power."

Andrea leaned forward and gently kissed Miranda on the lips. "I love you, Miranda," she said, bracing herself for whatever unsatisfying response the editor would have.

"And I you, Andrea. More than you know," Miranda replied.

The young woman nodded.

Miranda studied the young woman's features. It was clear she wasn't satisfied with her answer.

"Andrea, darling, you must believe me," she said. "I know you want to hear me use the word 'love' but I want you to think about what that really means. We use it all the time. I love a good layout or an exquisite silk print. Or a steak from Chef Jorge at Smiths. The word is void of its meaning, and I want you to understand that by not using it, I am trying to tell you that you're more than that to me. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't," she said, getting up and walking over to the window. "You say it all the time, you tell your daughters you love them. Why is it so impossible to say it to me. Even if you don't think it means anything, doesn't it matter that I do?" Andrea asked, leaning against the window sill.

"My daughters are too young to comprehend. They need to hear verbally that their mother loves them, in addition my actions," she said.

"And what about me?"

"You're not my eleven-year-old daughter, and I am consciously choosing not to treat you as such."

"So you've never said 'I love you' to another adult? Not James or Harrison or Stephen?"

"No, but I didn't mean it with them. Maybe at first, but with Stephen, I realized we would exchange these words every night and neither of us meant it. It was a custom that had lost its meaning, like saying 'bless you' when someone sneezes."

"So you still won't say it to me?" Andrea said, turning back to look out the window.

Miranda pushed herself up from the floor and walked towards the woman, wrapping her arms gently around her waist. She pressed a kiss to her cheek, then laid her head on the woman's shoulder.

"I want to show you—I want you to understand. I don't want you to need to hear those words to know that I care so very deeply about you," she whispered. "To know that you make me feel alive and invincible. To know that you are the only human being who can unravel me in seconds. To know that I am always thinking of you—every minute of the day and of the night, wondering what you're doing, what you're thinking, and if you are safe. To know that I have such strong feelings of affection for you I sometimes cannot comprehend it myself. To know that nothing you can do will ever make me be embarrassed of you or of being with you—I will always be your biggest supporter. To know that despite what I said this morning, I cannot fathom my world without you in it—nor do I want to. Does that make sense? I feel that if I need to use those words, I have failed in showing you. Do you know all of that?" she asked.

Andrea placed her hands on the woman's arms around her waist and nodded.

"I want to ask if we are good, but I know that will take time. Are we at least better?"

The young woman took a deep breath and turned around in her arms. "I know you were upset with me over all of this, but you have to understand this was an accident—a crime, in fact. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I was so eager to get home to you last night, I left my phone in the taxi. I talked to my coworkers, and Kelly reminded me that I texted her when I got in the cab. Anyway, that doesn't matter. I forgive you."

Miranda's eyes lit up and she smiled for the first time that afternoon.

"However," Andrea continued, "I think it will take some time to heal."

"I understand," Miranda said. She suddenly felt lightheaded and pushed away from the young woman. "I'm sorry—I need to sit for a second," she said, sitting in the armchair.

"Are you okay?" Andrea asked.

"Yes, just…tired all of a sudden."

Andrea grabbed a bottle of water and apple juice from the minibar, offering both to the woman. Miranda took the apple juice, opened the bottle, and took a few sips. Meanwhile, Andrea called down and ordered room service—soup, tea, and whatever sandwich they could make as quick as humanly possible.

"I just ordered us something light to eat. It's been a rough day, and I don't think either of us has had time to think about food," she said. "Will you stay and have dinner with me?" she asked, smiling and offering her hand to the woman.

Miranda smiled and accepted the offer, allowing the young woman to lead her to the table. The food arrived a few minutes later, and they ate in complete silence, both with so much on their minds.

"Thank you," Miranda said when they had finished, wiping her lips with the napkin and setting it on her plate. "I know we have more to talk about, like how we're going to fix this situation with the press, but before that, will you come lay with me?"

Andrea nodded and followed the woman into the bedroom, joining her in the middle of the bed. She moved closer, wrapping her arms tightly around the older woman. "I love you," she whispered, kissing her on the corner of her mouth.

Miranda cupped her cheek and returned the kiss, deepening it, and leaving the young woman breathless.

An hour later, they both lay there, partially clothed, their skin glistening with sweat.

"That was, um, unexpected," Miranda said, licking her lips as she tried to catch her breath.

Andrea pulled up her pants and tugged down her shirt before propping herself up. "Yeah, that's one way to put it."

"What were you going to say?"

Andrea grinned, "That if I'd known makeup sex with you was this good…" she paused, schooled her expression and added, "We still have to talk about how to fix this."

Miranda groaned and pushed herself up. "Where's my shirt?" she asked, looking around.

"Here," Andrea said, grabbing it off the corner of the headboard. She couldn't help but lean over and kiss the woman before stepping away to use the bathroom. When she finished, she carted up the dishes from their dinner and set the tray out in the hallway while Miranda freshened up.

"So," Miranda said as she took a seat on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her, "I have an idea. But you have to hear me out before responding. And I want you to think about what _you_ want, not what's the best or easiest way to satisfy the press or 'fix' this situation we've found ourselves in, okay?"

Andrea nodded and took a seat at the other end of the couch. She was more than a little nervous that whatever Miranda's idea was would mean they'd never see each other again.

"Andrea Elizabeth Sachs," she began, "I think you know how much I love you." She smiled when she saw the young woman's face light up. "I don't want to spend another day, another hour, wondering about tomorrow." She reached out her hand. "Will you be my partner? Today, tomorrow, always?"

Andrea's eyes widened. "Are you—are you asking me to marry you?"

Miranda smiled and stretched her hand out further. "Well, we can't, legally, here today, but yes, that's the idea."

Andrea moved closer, hesitatingly reached out and accepted the offered hand. "And this isn't just to cover up the story with the photos and texts?"

"Darling, if you think this will _cover up_ that story, you might need to rethink your career choice," she said. "I expect this will be an even bigger story, and draw even more attention on the original photos texts that were published. You have to know by now that I don't care what the press writes about me. Are you okay with that?"

The young woman nodded. "But what about the girls? Won't it be hard for them?"

Miranda smiled. "I called them a few minutes ago, and to quote Cassidy, 'she's worth it, mom.' So, shall we make it official?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Andrea smiled and squeezed her hand. "I have one condition," she said. At Miranda's nod, she continued. "Since you won't say the words, I need something that you _will_ say to me, that will capture what you mean."

"Like a code word?" Miranda asked.

"No, a phrase that means the same but isn't so overused as to be void of meaning."

"Ah, well then, my darling, I have the perfect one," Miranda said. "Ready?"

Andrea nodded, practically bouncing off the couch with anticipation. "I am completely and utterly besotted with you."

The young woman grinned and wrapped her arms around the editor. "And I am completely and utterly _besotted_ with you, too, Miranda," she said, hugging her tightly.

"So you agree?" Miranda asked, pulling away just enough to look the young woman in the eye.

"Of course," she said. "Who would have known that today would be the happiest day of my life?"

Miranda grinned. "Let's go home, shall we?"

Andrea smiled and nodded.

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt on Tumblr: "Can you do a story where Andy has to beg Miranda, super angsty?"  
> I hope this lived up to your expectations, Anon. It certainly took on a life of its own. 
> 
> Please be kind and let me know how you liked it. xo


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